


Background Noise

by Defira



Series: Throw Your Arms Around Me (Or At Least Throw A Punch) [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Elise Shepard is dead. The Normandy is lost. The Alliance is in mourning. </p><p>Worlds apart, two very different men must come to terms with Shepard's assassination, and decide what her death means to their lives. What does a stranger's death mean to a man who doles out pain for a living? What is a lover's life worth next to the life of a hero? And, if the opportunity should present itself, what exactly are they willing to do to bring her back again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Omega

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in 2183, during the events of Redemption, approximately one month after Shepard's death

Omega was a funny kind of place, but he’d always been fond of it. He could appreciate a place where it perfectly acceptable to shoot a fucker in the face, so long as you didn’t inconvenience the locals too much. And if it was a local you were shooting, well... as long as you were prepared to deal with the fallout yourself, no one looked too hard at what you were doing. 

He appreciated that sort of amorality. Warmed the cockles of his black old heart, it did. 

Zaeed Massani, deadliest and most formidable bounty hunter in the known galaxy- if he did say so himself- had found himself back on Omega once again, not that he was complaining. The lawless station always did provide excellent opportunities for work, and after spending the last few days trying to rein in the worst of his proclivities so as not to scare the eight year old girl they’d picked up from her kidnappers, he was in the mood to get his hands dirty. 

In more ways than one.

The lower levels of Afterlife were crowded and ridiculously noisy, smoke hanging in the air and the sticky floor vibrating under his feet from the intensity of the bass. The flashing strobe lights could give a guy a headache if he wasn’t too careful, but he hadn’t made it this far in life without being careful.

Of course, his brand of careful usually involved shooting first and asking questions later- if the bastards weren’t alive to shoot back, his risk of death decreased exponentially. 

He took a long drag on the cigar he was holding in one hand and squeezed the thigh of the asari broad on his lap with the other; she squealed delightedly and squirmed provocatively. He and his crew had docked at the station a few hours ago, and they’d all wandered off to find their own pleasures and entertainment; he didn’t really have any intention of picking up again with them, and to the best of his knowledge they weren’t expecting it either. 

For now, Omega beckoned; there’d be time for job prospects later. 

He had a booth on the lower floors of Afterlife, and he was watching the girls dance; he had booze, he had a bed for the night, and he had at least one person to share it with. That was a win in his books. 

The night got even better when he spotted the distinctive blue and white armour over by the bar, and he grinned ruthlessly to himself, stubbing out the cigar on the battered table top of the booth. 

“One sec, love,” he said, picking her up off his lap and putting her on the table. “You amuse y’self for five minutes; I’ll be back soon.”

She pouted, arms crossed in a way that pushed her breasts up until they were threatening to spill out of the latex corset she wore. “Like I haven’t heard _that_ before,” she said sullenly, her painted silver lips twisted into a scowl. 

“Oi, don’t be like that, you silly bint.” He stood up, planting himself between her thighs and dragging her to the edge of the table. “You think I’d walk out without having m’self a bit of fun first?”

She was still pouting, but her expression was a bit more coy, her gaze calculating. “You just hurt my feelings, is all,” she said, running her hands up his chest. “Make me think you don’t love me.”

“Course I love you,” he said, his hands resting high on her thighs, his thumbs brushing up under the hem of her ridiculously tiny skirt. “Pretty little thing like you?”

She leaned in closer, as if she were about to kiss him. “What’s my name, then?”

_Fuck_. “Names are such trivial things, sweetheart,” he said, grinning winningly at her as he leaned in too, chasing her mouth with his. “You can’t really expect me to remember-”

She slapped him. _Hard_. 

His lips thinned with displeasure as he turned his head back to face her. “That was mighty fuckin’ stupid of you, darlin’.”

She smiled, but her eyes were hard. “I’ll make it up to you later, baby,” she cooed, her arms slipping up around his neck again. She tugged him closer, but there was something harsh in the curve of her lips- her smile was not as affectionate as it had been a moment before. 

That’d just make the evening a lot more interesting, of course; he grinned, tracing a finger over her lips as he smiled at the haughty expression on her face. “Course you will, love,” he said, disentangling himself from her somewhat clinging arms before smirking and making his way through the crowd and towards the bar. 

Bars were wild and dangerous places, after all- especially when he was about.

A little asari girl bumped into him on his way to the bar, her brow furrowed with frustration; she was far too clean cut for a place like this, shiny armour and a pixie face that was adorable even by asari standards. She called an apology after him, but he didn’t even break his stride; he gave her maybe an hour, maybe two, before someone took advantage of her wide eyed naivety and lured her down an alley with the promise of candy. Omega was good for that. 

He didn’t even give her a second thought as he elbowed his way through the crowd and up to the bar, waving to catch the attention of the bartender.

“Watch y’self old man,” slurred a voice beside him, “we were here first.”

Zaeed glanced down at speaker, a human kid who looked like he should’ve still been sucking on his mother’s tit. The kid was red faced and grinning in that way the exceedingly drunk seemed to smile, and the front of his armour was sticky with spilled beer. 

Blue Suns armour.

“Were you now?” He looked away from the kid, back to the bartender. He held up two fingers and the batarian nodded in acknowledgement, reaching for two glasses. “That’s a goddamn shame.”

“Hey now,” the kid said, poking him firmly in the shoulder. “You don... you don’t know who I am. You can’ talk to me like that. I’ma Blue Suns, y’know.”

“You don’t say,” Zaeed said, pointedly not looking at him. 

“Y’ disrespecting me, old man?” A hand tightened around his bicep and he tensed. “We’re fuckin’... we’re th’ new power in Omega, okay? You don’ go disrespectin’ me. We got.. we got friends, y’know. Big money and shit, y’know?”

“Get your hand off me, you little shit,” Zaeed said quietly, staring straight ahead. 

“Or what? Y’ gonna cry, old man?”

Zaeed didn’t even look at him- he reached over and took hold of the kid’s hand with his, ripping it away from his arm and twisting it sharply until he felt the bones crack beneath the skin. The kid screamed, and Zaeed grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him face first against the bar. There were screams around them as the other patrons scrambled to get out of the splatter zone. He pulled him back up, took in the bloodied nose and glazed eyes, and did it again until the kids’ eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped down onto the floor the moment Zaeed let go of him. 

A clawed hand slammed down on his shoulder, spinning him around so that his back was to the bar, the kid unconscious at his feet. There was a turian and three batarians in front of him, all wearing the rather iconic blue and white armour of the Suns. 

Seemed like it was his lucky night.

“You’re gonna pay for that, old man,” the turian snarled, clawed hand resting over the gun on his belt. The batarians weren’t even willing to wait- all three of them already had their guns out, aimed at his face. 

Zaeed smiled ruthlessly. “I fucking well hope so,” he said. 

He had his back to the bar, and they hadn’t counted that as an advantage for him- he saw the moment the realisation dawned on them all, when he went from leaning casually to using it for leverage. He braced himself on his elbows and kicked up and out violently, hitting the turian square in the chest and sending him staggering back into the four eyed fuckers. 

They went scattering about like the pathetic little ducklings that they were, sprawled all over each other on the ground. Zaeed set himself back down and casually stepped over the mess of limbs to find the turian, bending down to take his gun before he could recover himself. When one of the batarians reached for his ankle, he stepped down hard on the dumb fucker’s hand, then planted his boot on his throat. 

It amused him to see the bug eye claw desperately at his leg as he choked the life out of him. When one of the other batarians tried to rise, he shot him in the back of the head, stomping down hard on the first one’s throat. The neck crunched under his weight, and a torrent of blood gushed out of the batarian’s mouth as his eyes went glassy.

Two down, two to-

Something slammed over the back of his head and he staggered, nearly losing his balance when his feet got tangled up in the two dead batarians. He lurched to the side, just in time to avoid another blow, and found the turian back on his feet, murder in his eyes and a bar stool in his hand. 

Zaeed reached back and touched a hand to the back of his head; his fingers came away wet, and he glanced down to see blood smeared over his skin.

He looked back up at the turian, grinning madly. “You wanna dance, you sassy fucker?” Movement out of the corner of his eye gave him warning, and he brought the gun around quickly to shoot the third batarian, once in the shoulder and then once in the eye. 

The turian tried to take advantage of the distraction, lunging forward; Zaeed met the charge, barrelling into him with a bellow and hurling them both to the ground. The turian snarled ferociously, clawing at him, but the dumb fucker hadn’t been able to get the bar stool clear before Zaeed had knocked him to the ground. It pinned one of his arms, and the other was hampered trying to reach around the metal frame of the stool. 

“If you’re so mad, why don’t you hit me?” It was bloody childish, but damn if he didn’t love it. He saw the way the anger in the turian’s eyes changed to outright blind fury, and he grinned wildly in return. He dove out of the way of the attack, ducking as the bar stool went flying over his head, and then returned the violence with some of his own. His first punch connected, the skin on his knuckles splitting open as he cracked the mad bastard on the jaw- fucking turians and their weird crustacean lizard skin. 

He grunted when the merc got one in on him, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth and his ears ringing from the force of the blow. He grinned and spat the blood back at him, and punched the bastard so hard that his head snapped back with a crunch.

The turian’s eyes were glazed when his head lurched back up again, blue blood dripping down his chin. His next attack lacked the power that his first ones had. Zaeed ducked out of the way, the punch clipping him on the shoulder, and he matched it with one of his own. The hit slammed into the turian’s jaw, and this time when he fell, he didn’t get back up.

Panting, wincing at the ache in his head, Zaeed slowly straightened to survey his handiwork. All three batarians were dead, but the turian and the human might turn up lucky. His fingers brushed over the gun at his belt, considering. 

“What the fuck was that?” growled a voice from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and found the batarian bartender glaring furiously at him, hands clenched into fists on the bar. 

Zaeed looked down at the mess, at the different coloured splatters of blood on the floor and the bar, and the chunks of bone and tissue where his bullets had opened gaping wounds in the mercs’ heads. There was a clear circle around him, the music still thumping wildly in the background while the patrons of the club stood back warily, eyeing him with varying expressions of fear and interest.

He looked back at the bartender. He grinned.

“I slipped,” he said innocently, shrugging as the four eyed fucker glared at him.

“Goddamn human scum,” the bartender spat. “You gonna clean that up?” 

Zaeed saluted to him, spitting blood from his mouth as he did so. “You can send me the bill,” he said, snatching up the two drinks from the bar that he’d ordered a few minutes ago. The crowd shuffled quickly out of the way as he passed, and he smirked to himself.

_Fuckin’ sheep._

The asari tart was gone when he finally made his way back to the table; he sighed as he settled back into the booth, propping both feet up on the table and nursing both drinks. He put his bloodied fist up to his mouth and sucked on the raw knuckle, wincing as the fresh blood hit his tongue. 

He’d lost a bedmate, but he’d had fun at the expense of the Suns. The night wasn’t precisely a write off, as far as he was concerned. 

The club slowly settled back to some semblance of normalcy, although there were plenty of nervous looks thrown his way. A couple of Aria’s crew appeared and dragged away the bodies, casting him filthy glares as they did so. 

No one bothered to clear the blood away, another dark and violent stain on the face of Omega. 

He lingered long enough to finish up both of the drinks, and then climbed to his feet. There were aches that hadn’t been there a few hours ago, old pains that lingered in his bones; getting in a bar fight might’ve been satisfying in the heat of the moment, but the stiffness he’d feel in the morning would make him wonder if it’d been worth it.

Most of the other patrons were smart enough to avoid him as he sauntered towards the exit, although one of the doormen stared at him for a good few seconds before grudgingly stepping aside and letting him leave. He smirked and offered a quick bow, pleased to have added another mark of infamy to his name. 

He was making his way back to his hired quarters when his sixth sense kicked in, warning him that he was being followed. Not surprising, really- could have been someone from the bar, hoping he’d been knocked around enough to make him an easy mark. Could’ve been more of the Suns, looking to dish out some vengeance on behalf of their fallen brethren. Could’ve been a hundred or more people with a grudge against him, or someone looking to cash in on the bounty on his head. 

He rolled his shoulders, listening to the crack of the bones settling, and rested his hand over his gun. The streets were still relatively busy, but that’d never really stopped someone from causing a scene in Omega. Hell, it hadn’t stopped him only an hour or so ago. 

There was an alley up ahead, and he wandered into it as if it’d been his destination all along; the moment he was out of sight of his pursuer, he pulled out his gun and quickly scanned for possible exits- or possible ambush sites. It wouldn’t do him any good to try and turn the tables on his stalker only to have them jump him from behind. 

He settled in to wait- and didn’t have to linger long. 

A shapely female silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alley, illuminated from behind by the garish neon lights of the station. She appeared unarmed, but that didn’t really mean a lot in this day and age. 

His gun was already aimed at her, a careful smile on his face. “Careful there, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Following strange men into dark alleys never goes well for pretty young things like you.” 

She took a step forward and smiled at him, but the expression didn’t reach her icy blue eyes. “Mister Massani,” she said familiarly. “I was hoping I could take up a few moments of your time.”

He didn’t drop the gun, but his smile grew more feral. “Tell me your price, sweetheart, and I’ll consider it.” He perused her warily, taking in the Cerberus logo featured prominently on her breast. “Hell, actually, who gives a shit about the price. I’m game.”

Her lips thinned in annoyance. “That’s not what I meant, Mister Massani,” she said, her eyes cold. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to discuss a business proposition with you. And you can put away the gun- it won’t do you any good, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve killed enough of your kind to know better than that, sweetheart.”

“And I can tell you right now, you’ve never encountered _my kind_ before, Massani. Put the gun down and we’ll talk like adults.” 

He wavered for a moment, and then complied, tucking the gun back into its holster; despite his better judgement, there was something intriguing about her offer. And, if he had to be honest, he was always a sucker for a good looking broad.

Sexy dame in a dark alley with a mysterious offer? It was like some kind of old detective noir shit. 

“You’re presuming that both of us are adults, sweetheart,” he said, winking lecherously at her. 

She cast him a withering look. “Cut it with the sweetheart crap, Massani- I’m not here to put up with your patronising attempts at flirting.”

“No, but you are here to curry my favour for something- this ain’t Cerberus’ normal stomping grounds, for sure.” He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at her. “You’re up to something naughty if you’re risking your time on Omega and talking to a fool old merc like me.”

“Your place is only two minutes from her,” she said, ignoring his comment completely. “Let’s continue this conversation there.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds, arms still crossed; he’d lost count of how many Cerberus punks he’d killed over the years- had to number in the dozens, easily, if not the hundreds- and he wouldn’t put it past them to send an assassin after him to recoup their losses, in a sense. And wouldn’t it just be the icing on the cake if it was some good looking young bint doing the deed?

Zaeed Massani, taken out by some wench in a catsuit, half his damn age. 

Finally he shrugged. “You seem to know so much about me, so you lead the way.” At the look she gave him, he chuckled. “I’m not bloody well stupid enough to let someone like you walk behind me, sweetheart. You lead on.”

He didn’t even have time to blink- before the last word was even out of his mouth, he was catapulted across the narrow space of the alley and slammed into the wall, pinned there by the force of her biotics. 

“Call me sweetheart again,” she said mildly, “and I’ll make sure you go _through_ the damn wall.”

After a moment she let him go, and he fell back to the ground rather painfully. Rubbing at the back of his already tender head- and finding fresh blood there when his fingers brushed over the wound- he scowled at her and gestured abruptly. “You can still bloody well lead,” he snapped.

His room was in one of the numerous flophouses scattered throughout the station, nothing more than a room with a mattress and a table. It would’ve been cheaper to bunk up in one of the public dorms, but he wasn’t stupid enough to fall asleep in the company of strangers. 

The Cerberus wench drew them a lot more attention than he would’ve liked, but that wasn’t anything he could help. 

She led him unerringly to his room, which was more than a little disconcerting; he didn’t let her know that of course. When she paused by the door, arms crossed, he simply winked at her as he made a great show of unlocking it slowly. As the door swung open, he gestured grandly for her to enter ahead of him. 

Zaeed kicked the door shut behind them and turned to find her eyeing the room with disgust, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

The urge to taunt her was too much. “Welcome to Chateau Massani, sweetheart,” he said, dropping down into the only chair and leaning back on the two back legs. “Make yourself at home.”

The look she gave him could have felled a turian legion. “I believe we’ve already discussed what would occur if you called me sweetheart again.”

“Well, you haven’t given me anything else to call you now, have you love?”

If anything, the seething revulsion in her eyes grew more intense. “My name is Miranda,” she said, pointedly staying on her feet. “And I have a proposition for you on behalf of Cerberus.”

“So you said earlier,” he said, making no effort to hide his perusal of her body. “And I ain’t fucking interested.”

“You haven’t even heard the proposal.”

“One, I’m fucking old and tired, sweetheart,” he said, smirking at the fury in her eyes. “Two, I don’t work with Cerberus. And three, you can’t fucking afford me. Trust me.”

“Money is of no consequence to The Illusive Man,” she said dismissively. “You’ll be paid well for your time.”

“Still not interested.”

“Not even if it involves the Blue Suns?”

He barely even hesitated. “I don’t give a shit what the Blue Suns are up to these days, love- I just like killing them.”

“For someone who takes great glee in killing mercs, that sure as hell looks like a Blue Suns tattoo on your neck.”

He scowled at her and rubbed absently at the old ink. “Not really a secret that I was in the Suns donkeys years ago-”

“But it is somewhat of a secret that you were the founder of the Suns with Vido Santiago, and have some unfinished business with him,” she said knowingly, arms crossed and brow arched almost tauntingly.

Zaeed paused for a very long moment; the blood seething in his veins compelled him towards violence, and he breathed out slowly until he had himself under control. “We’re done here,” he said finally, not moving from the chair. “And the next time Cerberus sends someone to chat with me, I’ll be bloody well sending them back to you in a doggy bag.”

“We can give you Santiago, Mister Massani,” she said calmly, ignoring his threat. “In fact, it would be our pleasure to help you rid the galaxy of Santiago. Cerberus would be happy to facilitate you, in exchange for your cooperation in another matter.”

He paused once again, watching her for any hint that she might be bullshitting him. “I’m listening,” he said carefully.

“Do you know who this is?” she asked, opening the satchel at her hip and handing him a datapad. He didn’t reach for it immediately, instead staring callously at her; she didn’t flinch, or show an ounce of fear. If anything she just looked annoyed at him, as if she were dealing with an irksome small child. 

Finally he sighed, nostrils flaring as he tipped the chair back down onto four legs and leaned forward to take the damned datapad. She smirked slightly, the corner of her mouth quirking, and for a moment he didn’t know whether he hated her or admired her brass.

He glared at her before glancing down at the datapad, surprise flicking over his face as he recognised the figure on the screen. “You’d have to be bloody daft not to know who Shepard is,” he said, reaching to hand the datapad back. 

She gestured for him to keep looking, and after a moment’s annoyed pause he looked back down at the screen, flicking across to find other photos. Most were the type that he’d seen a dozen times over, overly chirpy smiling face beaming down from recruitment posters in every bloody human colony from here to kingdom come. 

There was one that gave him pause, of her in a red dress. Only pics he’d ever seen of her had been armour and guns and blood, and he’d always assumed she was the sort to live and breathe military life; he’d known enough of those, in his time. Dry as week old bread, and about as lively too. 

But here she was dressed to the nines, the dress showing off some rather significant curves that the armoured pics tended to hide, her eyes shining and her bronzed skin glowing with happiness and her smile nothing short of remarkable. 

He felt the stirrings of arousal, looking at her smile with renewed interest. 

He glanced up at Miranda. “I assume you want her dead? That’s an expensive job.”

“Actually, precisely the opposite,” she said, the first inklings of genuine dismay flicking through her eyes. “Shepard died a few weeks ago.”

His eyebrows went up. “Hadn’t heard,” he said, handing back the datapad. “I’ll make sure to send a card.” 

“That’s not the point,” she began, and he interrupted her with a laugh.

“Well, what the bloody hell is the point, sweetheart? I’m ain’t precisely a miracle worker. I can head after the fuckers that killed her for you, if that’s what you’re after, or I can slap on a wig and tell everyone I _am_ Shepard.” He smirked. “Don’t really have the hips to be convincing though.”

“Shepard shouldn’t have died in the first place, but that’s not the point now, Massani,” she said, ignoring his smartass comments as she took the datapad and tucked it back into the satchel. “The point is that we have no intention of making it permanent, and at the moment your old comrades are making that rather difficult.”

He tipped the chair back, propping his feet up on the table again. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, love.”

With a flick of her wrist, her biotic powers lashed out and the chair tipped over, sending him sprawling to the floor. “You may refer to me as ma’am, or as Miranda,” she said coolly. “But one more sexist endearment out of your mouth and I’ll put a chair leg through the back of your throat.”

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your fucking point.” He climbed back to his feet with difficulty, scowling at her as she stood primly by the door. “Carry on then,” he said, waving magnanimously at her as he slumped back into his seat. 

“The Blue Suns have accepted a contract to recover and deliver Shepard’s body,” she said. “At the moment, they are in the middle of the drop off- they’ve recovered her body and are waiting for the pickup from their employers.”

He waited for her to continue. “And?” he asked in frustration, gesturing for her to continue. “What, you want me to play the part of the hero and come swinging in to save her?”

“No, we’ve already spoken to... interested parties, in regards to retrieving her body,” she said, carefully avoiding any sort of commitment to the question. “What we were hoping for was rather more of a... long term investment from you.”

He blinked in confusion. “What? English, sweethe- I mean ma’am.”

“We’re rather displeased with the Blue Suns’ decision to take on this contract,” she said, as if that would explain everything.

“So? The Suns have pissed off everyone this side of the Andromeda galaxy, and then some. Join the queue.”

“We were rather hoping you’d share our in our annoyance.”

“If it hadn’t’ve been the Suns, it would have been some other two bit profiteering outfit,” he spat, eyes narrowed angrily at her. “And whatever the fuck Vido has those sons of bitches doing these days, it ain’t got nothing to do with me.”

She sighed irritably, nostrils flaring in vexation. “Cerberus has the situation with Commander Shepard in hand,” she said bluntly. “Eventually, we hope to see her back on her feet to deal with the individuals who attempted to kill her-”

“Thought you said she was dead,” he said pointedly.

“And in that eventuality we’d like to see her assisted by like minded individuals who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty,” she continued, ignoring his statement. “We’re willing to pay handsomely to see that you are available when the time comes.”

Dumb broad was talking in circles- Shepard was dead, but they were recruiting people to help her. They wanted the Blue Suns taken care of, but they were gonna hand him Vido on a silver platter. He could see a trap from a mile away.

“Enough with the double talk- what the bloody hell do you want with me?”

She reached back into the satchel and took out a piece of paper. “We’re willing to pay you this much, and get you the location of Santiago, in exchange for the following.” She passed over the paper. “One, it is very much in our interest to see the Blue Suns harried as much as possible in the coming months. A reminder that Cerberus does not take kindly to outside interference.”

He pinched the paper between thumb and finger, not yet opening it. “And?”

“Two,” she continued, “you will make yourself available to join Commander Shepard’s crew when the time comes.”

“I ain’t exactly on friendly terms with the Alliance either-”

“This is not an Alliance operation, Mister Massani,” she said calmly. “This is a private enterprise. Your standing within the Alliance has no bearing on this.”

He scratched at his chin thoughtfully as he pulled open the folds of paper- and paused. He glanced up at her. 

“This is a lot of fucking money.”

She smirked slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible. “Cerberus is well situated to compensate you for your troubles, Mister Massani,” she said smugly. “If you agree to our terms, half will be transferred into your account now, as a sign of goodwill. The other half will be paid once you join Shepard’s crew.”

“And Vido?”

“We will acquire Mister Santiago’s location for you, and ensure that he is within reach- the location, like the second payment, will be forwarded to you once you join Shepard’s crew.” 

He looked back down at the paper, head reeling. “This is a lot of fucking money to just hunt mercs, if you don’t ever get her back on her feet.”

He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye. “That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” she said, reaching back into the satchel and withdrawing the datapad. “Disrupt the Blue Suns wherever possible, and join us when we contact you. Simple enough?”

It seemed too good to be true, but the money on offer- plus Vido...

“Simple enough,” he agreed.

“So that’s a yes?”

He paused for the longest time, staring down at the numbers on the paper. “That’s a yes,” he said finally.

He could hear the delight in her voice. “Excellent- I’ll make the necessary arrangements, and leave you to your own devices. You’ll see the first half of the money appear within the next hour or so.” He looked up to find her holding out the datapad. “I suggest you familiarise yourself with the Commander a little more- you’ll be serving directly under her, after all.”

Zaeed took the datapad and saw that it was still open on the picture of Shepard in the red dress, her bright smile shining up at him.

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Something tells me I’m not gonna mind serving under her at all.”


	2. Arcturus

“Admiral Hackett? Sir?”

Steven shook himself, realising he’d drifted off amongst his thoughts while his secretary had been talking. “I’m sorry, Mai,” he said, sitting up straight and rolling his shoulders, trying to shift the listlessness that had overtaken him. “My attention was elsewhere- you were saying?”

Her expression was briefly sympathetic before the professionalism clicked back into place. “I was just reiterating the plans for the memorial service for Commander Shepard on Mindoir, and going over your correspondence with Prime Minister Shastri and Senator Ndiaye in regards to the security arrangements for the proceedings.”

His stomach lurched uncomfortably. Of course that’s what they’d been discussing- it was the topic of the moment, the tragic death of Elise Shepard in the mysterious attack that had the Alliance scrambling blindly for answers. From triumphant glory following the Battle of the Citadel to horrified disbelief in the space of a few short weeks, the Alliance was on shaky ground.

The death of a hero and loss of the fleet’s most advanced ship by an unidentified assailant was a distressing responsibility to bear in his first month as Fleet Admiral.

And that was without taking into account his significant personal investment into the matter.

“Additionally,” Mai continued, either oblivious to his discomfort or shrewd enough not to mention it, “we’ve had a proposal come through enquiring about the possibility of making Shepard’s image a part of-”

“That’s hardly my department,” he interrupted, folding his hands together on the desk to stop himself from tapping his fingers restlessly. “Have legal take a look at the fine print on the request, and then bump it over to Civil Affairs.”

“Of course, sir, but as her superior, and without any surviving family, Shepard’s image and likeness are available to the Alliance for public use with your permission.”

The mere thought of it, of sanctioning the use of her joyous smile as a means to encourage recruitment or bolster the Alliance’s image throughout the colonies- the thought of turning around and not knowing if he’d find a poster of her down every second hallway... it made him feel ill. 

The Admiral in him knew what needed to be done, but that was in stark contrast to what the man in him wanted to say. 

“Send it to legal first,” he said, more firmly than the first time. “If we’re not at risk of exposing ourselves to an expensive lawsuit, _then_ I’ll sign off on it.” 

Though Mai was correct- Elise had no surviving family, apart from that boy she’d damn near adopted out of the Academy. Half the time he wasn’t sure if they thought of themselves as siblings or as mortal enemies, but they seemed to work well together. He was probably the only one in a position to cause trouble, and that was assuming that any court of law was willing to recognise his alleged familial connection to Shepard. 

“Of course, sir. I’ll have that seen to immediately.”

He grimaced, tapping his foot irritably against the floor. He felt antsy, nervous energy humming beneath his skin. Dealing with Elise’s death was a nightmare that just didn’t want to end, and he could feel his stoicism cracking with each new day and each fresh batch of challenges.

At the end of the day, he was only a man- and as a man, he was not immune to the debilitating pain that grief tended to leave in its wake. 

He could tell himself that he barely knew her until he was blue in the face, it didn’t seem to make a difference; a handful of conversations over the years, a smattering of careful flirting, two dances and a single kiss. It was hardly a romance to last throughout the ages, to be sung about in years to come. 

It did nothing to quell the ache in his heart, and when he was deep enough in his cups in the evenings he wondered whether he mourned her or whether he mourned the idea of her. 

“Admiral?”

Steven scowled and shook himself for the second time. “Apologies, Mai,” he said. “I’m afraid my mind just isn’t on task this afternoon.”

Her expression was concerned, and he chastised himself for the lapse. “Are you feeling unwell, sir? I could clear your schedule for the rest of the afternoon- you’ve got two more appointments, and a meeting, it shouldn’t be too much trouble to-”

“No, no Mai, it’s fine.” He ran a hand over his jaw, fighting back a yawn. “I’ll just make sure to get an early night.”

She looked dubious, but she didn’t protest. “Did you want to review the security proposals for the memorial service, or should I leave them for tomorrow?”

“We’ll leave them until tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir. Would you like me to contact the Prime Minister’s office with an update?”

He picked up a pen from the desk and began to fiddle with it, turning it over endlessly in his hands. “I’m sure they’ll survive without an update for now,” he said, frustration building within him again. 

It wasn’t like Elise was getting any more dead than she already was. A delay in the communications by a half day wouldn’t hurt anyone, and it’d give him room to breathe.

“Of course.” She made a note on her datapad, and then scrolled to the next item on the list. “Gunnery Chief Williams has put forward another request to-”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest. “Denied,” he said instantly; he didn’t even need to hear the end of that sentence to know it was that Shepard’s old crewmate was asking for. “Please express to Chief Williams that the Alliance shares her grief, and her faith in Commander Shepard, but we do not have the resources for such an expedition.”

“Of course, sir. She’s rather adamant, and has requested to speak to you in person- would you like to meet with her, or shall I tell her you’re busy?”

Only one of Shepard’s crew would be so brazen as to request a meeting with the Fleet Admiral; he smiled sadly at the thought, at the loyalty and tenacity she’d imbued in all of her subordinates. Elise Shepard was one of a kind, in more ways than one. The Alliance had lost so much in losing her.

His chest ached, and he grimaced.

_Sentimental old fool._

“Please offer Chief Williams our most sincere regrets, and remind her politely that it is not appropriate for her to bypass the chain of command for the sake of a request that has already been denied twice.”

“Would you like that to be an official reprimand, sir? I can contact Human Resources.”

Steven stared off into the distance, out the window towards the quadrangle where the trees were beginning to lose their leaves and the colours were beginning to turn. It’d always struck him as amusing, the way life continued despite being trapped in an artificial environment. There were no seasons in the torus, and yet the trees marched merrily onwards towards autumn. “Let’s keep it quiet for the time being,” he said finally, dragging his attention away from the leaves. “Williams is an admirable officer, and she doesn’t deserve a blemish this early in her career. Especially not for the sake of looking out for a friend.”

He couldn’t blame Williams for her desperation- hell, there were moments when he had to wonder why he didn’t just jump out from behind the desk and commandeer the nearest starship, careening across the galaxy to the quadrant where the Normandy had been attacked. The need to see it with his own eyes, to have closure, to put that niggling voice to rest that desperately cried out _what if_.

What if he’d overruled the decision to send her out hunting for geth?

What if she’d survived the crash, against all the odds, and was marooned on an alien world waiting for rescue?

What if he’d invited her back to his apartment, the night of the political dinner, instead of attempting to be gentlemanly and wooing her slowly?

He scowled again and rubbed his hands over his face; what right did he have pining over her like a love struck fool, as if her death was a tragedy reserved only for him? 

“Actually, Mai,” he said slowly, careful not to look at her and offer her a closer glimpse of his heartache, “clear my schedule. I will take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“A good decision sir.” He had the feeling his assistant was a little more aware of his discomfort than he’d like; she was remarkably perceptive, even when he didn’t want her to be. “Would you like to bypass the medical department on your way out? I can ring ahead and make sure that one of the doctors is available to see you immediately.”

He waved a hand to demur. “I’m fine, Mai, just a little overworked. That won’t be necessary.”

“I can arrange for a food service for you this evening, sir, to make sure you eat.” 

“Mai,” he said warningly, but he was smiling. “I don’t need mothering.”

Her face was a mask of bland professionalism, but her eyes were sparkling with a hint of mischief. “With apologies, sir, but I’m quite certain it will not look good on my career portfolio if you starve to death on my watch.”

“I didn’t realise I had hired a nanny.”

“Nonsense sir, just ensuring that you are equipped with the appropriate tools with which to perform your role to the best of your capabilities.” She said it so neatly, as if she were reciting it out of a text book. “If, on occasion, that requires me to monitor your eating habits to ensure that you are healthy and fit for duty, then so be it.”

“Just because you bring me coffee and lunch doesn’t mean-”

“Of course it doesn’t, sir,” she said innocently, clicking through the datapad. “Does Mongolian barbecue suit you again? Delivered at seven?”

He had to smile; she knew him far too well. 

But then a random thought occurred to him, flitting past out of the blue so haphazardly that he blinked in surprise. “Actually,” he said slowly, almost hesitantly. “I don’t suppose there’s a Nepalese restaurant on the station, is there?”

Mai glanced up at him curiously. “Not that I’m aware of, sir,” she said, glancing down at her omni-tool. She punched in the query and shook her head. “I’m afraid not- there’s a handful of Indian cuisine specialists, if you’d prefer that?”

He shook his head. “A friend once recommended a dish to me,” he said, not precisely a lie. He’d been present when she’d excitedly called for the food, even if she hadn’t been speaking to him personally. “That’s fine- Mongolian barbecue is fine, thank you Mai.”

She watched him closely for a moment, and then made the necessary note in her omni-tool, before closing down both devices and standing. “Will that be all, sir? Are you sure you won’t visit the medical centre?”

Steven smiled wearily at her. “I’m certain, Mai. Thank you for your concern. I’ll get an early night and see you in the morning.”

She nodded smartly to him, collecting the remaining files from the desk and stepping out of the room to give him his space. He sighed as he watched her go, grateful for her patience with the endless stream of tasks they’d been burdened with since the Battle of the Citadel and the loss of the Normandy. It was no small thing, dealing with the destruction and death of so many in the assault against Saren, and to then take on the tragedy of losing humanity’s most celebrated soldier...

It was wearing on him, badly, and yet Mai still carried on with a smile and an unwavering professionalism that was, quite possibly, one of the only things seeing him through each day. 

This certainly wasn’t what he’d envisioned his first month in command to be like. 

He climbed wearily to his feet, heading across the room to fetch his jacket. 

A familiar beep sounded behind him. 

He glanced over at his desk in surprise, and spotted his private terminal flashing to advise him of an incoming call. All of his calls came via Mai, and she screened them first to ensure he wasn’t being harassed needlessly with requests that could easily be dealt with further down the chain of command or by other departments. But his terminal was most definitely flashing with an incoming call, and as he leaned back slightly he could clearly see Mai standing beside her desk at the end of the hallway, talking with another PA. 

Whoever the caller was, they had managed to bypass the security protocols in place for calls. 

Intrigued, and more than a little suspicious, Steven wandered over to the desk and stared down at the terminal. The screen continued to flash with the incoming call, showing no other details about the person on the other end of the connection.

Curious and curiouser. 

He crossed the room quickly and shut his office door, clicking the lock into place and touching the door pad to enable the security overrides. He wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone, short of the Head of ICT coming down personally to have his tech boys disable the door. 

Settling into his chair again, Steven hesitated for a brief moment, very well aware of the resources required for someone to bypass his security protocols and knowing that such requirements only left a handful of people across the galaxy who could possibly be on the other end of the line. All of them were powerful, and not to be taken lightly. 

Steeling himself, he clicked on the call and folded his hands together on the desk before the screen. “Hackett here,” he said calmly. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The line flickered, and for a moment he didn’t think they were going to connect visuals. 

But then with a sharp crack of static that had him wincing slightly, the call stabilised, and he was staring at the familiar blue features of-

“Doctor T’soni?”

“Apologies for the state of the connection, Admiral,” Liara said, sounding heartily dismayed. “I’ve not had a great deal of practice at this procedure yet; my technical skills leave much to be desired.”

He sat back slowly, impressed yet wary. “I beg to differ, Doctor,” he said. “You managed to infiltrate the Alliance internal network with relatively little difficulty. At the very least, I thank you for exposing the vulnerability in our setup.”

“Oh, that wasn’t my intention, Admiral,” she said quickly; the connection wasn’t excellent, by any means, grainy and crackly, and it flickered occasionally with more bursts of static. “It was simply of the utmost importance that I spoke to you immediately, and I couldn’t trust the normal diplomatic channels given the urgency of my news.”

Steven took a moment to consider her words. “So you have news so urgent that it requires the attention of the Fleet Admiral himself, and yet you’re keen to avoid the attention such news brings with it,” he said carefully. “I must admit, Doctor, you’ve caught _my_ attention.”

“Please, call me Liara,” she said. 

“Very well, Liara- what is so urgent that you would risk so much to contact me?”

She paused, and for a moment he thought that the connection had failed, and the screen was frozen on the last frame. But then she moved, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I would prefer to meet in person,” she said hesitantly. “There are things that are better not said over carefully monitored channels.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. “You don’t trust your own carefully hacked connection?”

Liara shook her head firmly. “Not with the news I have to offer you, sir.”

He didn’t want to think it, but the desperate little ember of hope in his heart was quickly fanning itself into a flame again. There was only one reason, and one reason alone, why Liara T’soni would be attempting to contact one of the highest ranking individuals in the Systems Alliance, urging the need for secrecy.

It had to be about Shepard. 

_Calm, you daft old fool._

He contemplated the matter carefully, because it would of course be the perfect lure to take out the new head of the Alliance military and cripple humanity even further. Additionally, it could be cause for a major diplomatic headache- if T’soni thought she couldn’t go to her own people, and wanted to sidestep them completely in favour of a human...

He could feel a headache coming on. 

“Alright then,” he said slowly. “What do you suggest we do?”

“I’m just on the Citadel at the moment,” she said. “I’m staying with friends, but I can book transport and be on Arcturus within a few hours.”

He glanced at the clock on his omni-tool, and back to her. “I’m having dinner at home at seven local time,” he said. “Does that suit your requirement for discretion?”

“Assuming you don’t live in a glass box in the middle of the station, Admiral, I’d say that’d work out just fine.”

Steven breathed out slowly, well aware of the immensity of what he was committing to. “Liara,” he said, “I have to know, is Eli-”

“ _Admiral_ ,” she said sharply, her voice cracking out like a command. 

They stared at each other for a good few seconds, the tension uncomfortable and fierce. Liara’s expression was unwavering, determination in every inch of her as she glared defiantly back at him, never flinching. 

Finally he sighed. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Shall I forward my address to you now, or have a shuttle waiting for you at the spaceport?”

“I can make my own way, Admiral,” she said quietly. “The less communication between us, the better. Less chance of anyone making the connection between us.”

“You’re bold to make such requests of me, T’soni,” he said.

She shrugged as she reached to disconnect. “Not bold,” she said, “just tired enough and desperate enough to want to see the right thing done for a very dear friend.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

Liara nodded. “In a few hours, sir.” 

She disconnected, and he sat staring at the screen for a good minute or two, considering her words. Eventually he climbed wearily to his feet, adjusting his jacket on his shoulders as he made his way to the door and disarmed the security overrides. Mai and her companion smiled brightly at him as he walked past, calling their goodbyes as he headed for the elevator and down to the shuttle waiting for him outside. 

The driver was one of his regulars, and they chatted about unimportant things as they made their way around the curve of the torus towards the residential towers. He had a private landing pad beside his penthouse, and he found the former immensely more useful than the latter. He would have been quite content with smaller living quarters, but for the sake of security and ease of access, he’d moved onto the top floor of his complex a little over a year ago. 

He had a few hours to kill before Liara would arrive, and he distracted himself as best he could. A shower and a shave, in the hope that the hot water would ease some of the tension in his muscles; he threw back a few paracetamol for the headache that was building behind his eyes, and then settled in to his home office, reading through the reports and requests he could access from home. 

Mai would probably be displeased tomorrow to find he’d been working from home, but he couldn’t just sit around twiddling his thumbs with the immensity of this meeting hanging over his head. 

He was reading an astrophysics journal when the security cam buzzed the first time, and he checked the screen to find his food delivery waiting for him in the penthouse lobby. He let the young man in and thanked him for the prompt service, tossing the kid a credit chit as a tip. 

As the kid was leaving, he heard the elevator ping a second time, and Liara stepped out into the lobby. Steven kept the door open for her and waved her on through.

“It’s good to see you, Doctor T’soni,” he said, stepping aside to let her enter. “I trust you didn’t have any trouble making your way here?”

“Oh, no, I had a pleasant trip,” she said warmly, a small grey box clutched tightly to her side. “And please, call me Liara- Doctor T’soni seems a little formal, given the circumstances of my visit.”

“Then I insist you call me Steven.”

He showed her through to the lounge and offered her some of the take-out; she politely declined as she made herself comfortable, setting the box down delicately on the glass coffee table and shrugging out of her jacket. 

The box tugged at his attention, and his imagination ran rampant trying to imagine what could possibly be inside. 

He served his own dinner and joined her in the lounge a few minutes later, noting the nervous energy trickling from her; she barely seemed able to sit still, her fingers twisting together in her lap, her foot tapping against the floor. She smiled at him as he sat down opposite at her, but there was an immense skittishness to her movements. 

“Well, now, Liara,” he said, sitting back with his food. “Are we secluded enough for you to feel comfortable talking now?”

She didn’t answer him; instead, she slid the box across the table, chewing on her lip as he reached for it curiously. “I think it would be best if those were left in your care, Steven,” she said carefully.

His curiosity through the roof, he removed the lid of the box and set it to the side. He went immensely still the moment he spotted the contents, and for a long few moments he said nothing. “Why do you have these, Doctor T’soni?” he asked finally, his voice quiet and carefully toneless.

“It’s a complicated tale,” she said, and then hesitated. “I’m not sure how much of it you want to hear- for the sake of plausible deniability, at least, it might be better for you to know nothing.”

“I want to know all of it,” he said, his eyes coldly fierce as he looked up at her. “ _All_ of it.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, you should probably understand that, as of this moment, Shepard is actually dead. I do not wish to mislead you, Steven, or cause you undue heartache.”

He reached into the box, his fingers brushing over the blackened metal of Elise’s dog tags. Her name was still legible, and they weren’t badly damaged- they could be reworked into their original shape, the metal polished back to a brilliant shine again. 

“As of this moment,” he repeated dully, his fingers shaking as he removed the tags from the box. The chain was still intact, if a little melted in places, and it pooled in the palm of his hand. “You say that as if you’re expecting that to change in the future.”

Her intake of breath was sharp enough for him to glance up at her, and the rich blue of her skin was much paler than normal. “I _am_ expecting that to change in the future,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His heart was thumping so painfully in his chest that it was hard to breathe; he swallowed at the lump of emotions wedged in his throat, his fingers tightening around the dog tags. “Liara, I’m going to need you to be honest with me,” he said, his voice raw. “What happened to Elise?”

“Elise is dead, Steven,” she said, swallowing just as nervously. “I’ve seen her body. I took the tags from her myself.”

“But...?”

Liara took a deep breath. “But there’s a chance she’ll live again. I don’t understand the particulars of it myself, not having a great deal of experience with human physiology, but-”

“ _Liara_.”

“I am led to believe that she will live again. Or at least, that the group responsible for her care is doing everything in their power to see that she recovers.”

He stared at her, and then laughed bitterly. “You don’t simply _recover_ from death, Liara,” he said, climbing to his feet and heading wearily over to his liquor cabinet; he still had the dog tags in his hand, and he set them down for a moment with great reluctance. He poured himself a drink, and threw the whole thing back in one go, before refilling the glass with a bit more decorum and taking it back with him to the couch, dog tags held tightly in his fist. “If Elise is gone, well...”

“And yet your Earth mythology has countless tales of men and women who have returned from death,” she said pointedly. “Mortals and gods, long past any hope of survival, who have walked amongst the living again. Nearly all of your cultures have myths pertaining to-”

“Elise isn’t a _myth_ , Liara,” he said sharply, then reined in his anger with some difficulty. “I apologise, that was curt of me. But I... “ He breathed out slowly. “Forgive me, but I was never a man of faith, and what you are asking me to believe is nothing short of a miracle.”

“I understand that, Steven,” she said, her eyes sympathetic. “Perhaps, if I were to explain the situation in greater detail, that might satisfy some of your doubts?”

He waved his hand tiredly. “Please, go ahead,” he said. 

“When I heard from Chief Williams that the Alliance could not field a team to retrieve Shepard’s body, I immediately looked into a private expedition of my own,” she said, her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap. “I am not without resources, and since the passing of my mother earlier this year, money has certainly not been an issue for me.”

He didn’t speak, taking a careful sip of the whiskey as he waited for her to continue.

“My sources informed me, however, that I hadn’t been fast enough, and that there were other parties interested in recovering Shepard’s remains.” She swallowed nervously, not quite meeting his gaze. “The Shadow Broker himself had received an offer, and had sent the Blue Suns to do his bidding.”

“Who made the offer?” he asked, already dreading the answer. Elise had made any number of enemies in the last few years, and there were terrible people out there; he wouldn’t put it past someone to bid for her body just to use it for mockery. He fought back a shudder, his fingers tightening on the glass tumbler.

Unconsciously, he brought the hand with the dog tags clenched tightly within up to his chin, his lips resting against the metal.

She hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, before saying “The Collectors.”

Steven watched her for a moment, to see if she was lying. “The Collectors are all but a myth, Liara,” he said, settling back against the couch again. “They’ve never been sighted by humans before, so we only have the stories of your races to go on.”

“Well, I can tell you personally, they are _not_ stories,” she said, her voice hard. “I saw them with my own two eyes during the attempted trade.”

He considered her carefully. “So, the Collectors wanted her, but didn’t get her,” he said, his stomach turning over at the abstract way they were discussing the trafficking of Elise’s body. She should have been given the opportunity to rest, her body at peace- she shouldn’t have been tossed back and forth for the highest price, as if she were a toy to be won. “Dare I ask who has her now?”

“I was approached by, and eventually assisted, Cerberus. They have her body at a private medical facility. I’m not at liberty to disclose where.”

“ _La puta madre_ ,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hand wearily over his eyes. “Cerberus? What in god’s name do they want with Shepard?”

“The same thing we both want, Steven,” Liara said softly. “They want her back.”

They lapsed into silence; Liara seemed content to let him process the overwhelming news she’d presented him with, and he for the most part needed a moment to collect himself. 

The idea that Elise might be alive...

“Why not go to Anderson?” he asked quietly, nursing his drink carefully. “You had greater contact with him, as Shepard’s mentor and previous commanding officer, and as humanity’s Councilor he would have been much easier to get in touch with.”

“I had considered Anderson,” she said, just as carefully. “But it occurred to me that he is a man of two worlds now- as much as he stands for humanity on the galactic stage, he must also consider the political ramifications of everything he does. He cannot be seen to have any connections with an organisation such as Cerberus.”

“And the Fleet Admiral can afford such a risk?”

“It’s not precisely uncommon knowledge that Cerberus used to be a division within your Alliance, once upon a time,” she said. “Nor would it be unusual for the Fleet Admiral to be keeping tabs on such an organisation.”

He smiled into his drink, somewhat ruefully. “Saying Cerberus has an affiliation with the Alliance is about the same as saying that Eclipse has affiliations with the Asari Republics.”

She matched his smile. “Well, in a sense, they do. All asari are welcome to partake in the legislative process of our people- but I see your point.”

“It’s a common misconception, damned folk lore from the time of the First Contact War.” He took another mouthful, considering his next words carefully. “Normally I’d call Cerberus a royal pain in my ass, and leave it at that, but I have no doubt that people would find a way to twist those words into a statement of endorsement.”

“Having seen the efficiency of the reporters who managed to twist Shepard’s words, I don’t doubt it.”

He smiled tiredly. “So why me, Liara?” he asked, emptying his glass and setting it heavily on the glass table top. He still had the dog tags in hand, turning them over endlessly in his fingers, as if they could provide some small measure of comfort against the grief in his heart. 

When she took her time answering, he glanced over at her, only to find a knowing look on her face that sent a shiver of unease through him. “Honestly, sir? The Alliance needs to know- however noble Cerberus’ intentions are towards Shepard, someone in a position of power needs to know what is going on. Someone who Elise would trust above all else to keep her best interests at heart.”

He watched her carefully. “That could easily have been Anderson,” he said quietly.

“With all due respect, sir, I think we both know that not only are you in a better position to help Elise, but you’re also the person she would trust with this duty were she around to give her opinion.” When he didn’t answer her straight away, she smiled sadly. “She used to smile, when she spoke to you over the comms. She’d stand up there over the galaxy map with this particular smile of hers...” 

“Liara...”

“You were the only one who ever made her smile like that,” she finished. “Now, I’m no expert on humans, and I’ve put my foot in my mouth in regards to human customs more times than I’d care to admit, but I know that Shepard held you in a certain regard that she offered to no one else.”

He wasn’t a fool- he’d known that Elise was interested in him. Their last evening together at the political dinner had been all the proof he’d needed. But to hear another suggest that she’d held feelings for him... damn if it didn’t make him feel like a giddy teen with his first crush all over again. 

“How am I to know if Cerberus are doing the right thing by her?” he asked slowly, turning the dog tags over in his fingers. 

“I have established several contacts with Cerberus as a result of this operation,” she said, “and I’m planning on setting myself up as an information broker. Any news I hear, with your permission, I will forward straight to you- private mail accounts, encoded messages, whatever will make you comfortable. I understand that having traceable connections to Cerberus is a big risk for you to-”

“Alright,” he said, cutting her off. “Whatever arrangements you deem necessary, I’ll sign off on it. I want as many regular updates as you can possibly manage.”

A weary sort of delight blossomed in her eyes. “Of course, Steven,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “It’ll take me a few weeks to establish myself, but rest assured, everything I receive will go straight to your desk.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea where you’ll be going?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, fiddling with her hands in her lap. “I’ve a thought to head back to asari space, for the sake of personal safety, but the Shadow Broker has eyes and ears everywhere. Perhaps Illium.”

They lapsed into silence, and Steven glanced down at the dog tags in his hand. “Liara,” he said softly, “thank you for this.”

Her eyes were nothing short of heartbroken when he looked back at her. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t save her in the first place,” she whispered. “She was an extraordinary woman.”

If ever there was a time for him to start believing in bloody miracles, this was probably the most appropriate time.

“She still is, Liara,” he said, holding the dog tags to his lips. “And she will be again.”


End file.
